Sherlock Holmes, the movie..

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I have a wonderful fullfilling life but it is almost an addiction for me, this finding a good book or movie and immersing myself in it.  When my book is completely read or the movie has ended, I have to take a few moments to adjust to the present.   Sometimes I just pretend that I am still inhabiting that world but usually a voice will enter my happy world and I will have to answer them thus losing my connection.  The way to tell a really good movie is when the actors become who they are portraying and you forget the magazine  interviews that the actor has done.   You  just see the character.

This years movie, “Sherlock Holmes” was an excellent movie and is up for awards.  I’m sure that when the acceptance speeches are televised they will be an exciting commentary on the whole experience but as a ticket-paying attendee, I had a hard time dis-associating the actor with the fictional character…..hhmmm!  Even though the book was fiction and I have seen many remakes of the book, Robert Downey Jr was still Robert Downey Jr and though I have enjoyed some of his other movies, such as the “Chaplin” and “Iron Man”, this one bothered me.   My favorite Sherlock Holmes is still Basil Rathbone and some might think that this must show my age but I don’t think so.  If you look at my criteria, this movie didn’t make the grade.  Still a good movie to see though.

He looked up as the doors slid open, looking straight into my eyes, his mouth forming a slight smile.

I was on my way to the suite where group appointments were being held with the make-up artist I was assisting.  As the elevator quietly slid into motion, he continued to look at me and then his smile formed into  words that I could not understand.  I admit that I smiled back at him and tried to understand what he was saying but he didn’t seem to notice my confusion.  I was the only other person and he was looking at me as he spoke.  The tone of his voice and the smile on his lips as he spoke did not cause me to be alarmed, he certainly looked like someone at home in the  best hotel in town so I continued smiling and trying to understand.  When he reached his floor he bowed his head to me saying, ” Bon Giorno” and stepped into the hallway.  As I continued I decided that I really, really wanted to learn to speak Italian and that this man had given me a gift. 

When I don’t like my reflection in the mirror or any other of the many negative conversations women have playing  in their sub-conscious minds, I remember my man in the elevator.  Though his words were in Italian, what I heard could be anything I wanted to hear and believe me, I have remembered this gentleman many times over the years. He always says exactly what I need to hear.  Yes, this was a gift.

“Three Cups of Tea” and “Stones Into Schools” by Greg Mortenson

“being a profoundly bewildered man, I am an incorrigible introvert…..I loathe any action that involves drawing attention to myself.”

“Three Cups of Tea”  the “chronicle of an ordinary man who inadvertently bumbled into an extraordinary place”.   “Stones into Schools”  how this ”ordinary man came to discover his life’s calling”. 

  There is no better gift to give then a good book.  You can enter many different worlds and lives reading a well written book.  “Three Cups of Tea” is the story of a young man who admits to being rather unfocused, had been known to live in his car, take any job or sell his possessions in order to support his mountain climbing obsession.  His sister, Christa, died and to pay tribute to her he took the amber necklace she had always worn, bound in a Tibetan prayer flag, to place at the  summit of K2 in Pakistan, the toughest summit to reach on Earth. 

There are decisions that seem so simple but become so much more making us feel like we have a roaring animal by the tail and are just hanging on.  Thats the feeling you get reading this story.  ”Three Cups of Tea” by itself, is a wonderful read but to then read “Stones Into Schools” and see how Greg’s simple tribute blossomed into his life work is so inspiring.  The people he found to work with  saw ways around impossible situations in a country  we know so little about and a religion that feels like a threat. They  seemed to just be there at the time he needed them.  I am sure that another man in his situation may not have seen past the surface to recognize the abilities being offerred.

These books are required reading for our Armed Forces going to Afghanistan and Pakistan.  If you are like me, reading this book makes you rethink the priorities you may have in your own life and how to help others both personally and as a country.  I have been part of groups who bundled up clothes, blankets and other items to be sent to areas that are devastated.  I have been on Medical Mission trips to the isolated areas of our world and seen how people live.  I recognize that our ideas of how to help are far different than the actual needs of those areas.   We cannot always  bring our ideas and dump them in another country, brush off our hands and feel good about our generosity.  These books show a way to actually help change the future of these remote areas in just one generation and that has great value.  Read the books. You will be inspired.  I was.

 

 

I just think I’ve got things figured out and…..

a whole bunch of new techie stuff happens.  I have felt kind of excited about the new things that are becoming available especially since I am old enough to really, really remember the way they used to be.  Mail has gone from letters delivered even a year later by hand to hand, then the pony express then regular postal service.  Woops!  not done yet.  There was  e-mail, cellular phones, texts, tweets and who knows what will be next.  I’m sure we are all going to be embedded with something soon so that thoughts will be transmitted……eeewww, that will really be scary.  

Because of all of this, I had to sit down and decided for myself which books to put on my “Kindle” and which I want to hold in my hand.  There is nothing like a “Kindle”  when it comes to travel.  I know this because I have trundled through a couple of airports lugging my copy of “Atlas Shrugged” along with my purse, carry-on and checked bag.  On a “Kindle” you can read at least 2 books on a full battery and that will usually get you around the world, if you are so inclined. 

As convenient as they are, there is nothing like the weight of a book in your hands, the smell of the pages and ink, being able to mark and underline and then the big one for me….looking at my bookshelves and seeing each book as I remember where I was, who I was and the special parts that I liked when I read that book.   It may seem too sentimental and there does seem to be a trend toward de-cluttering our lives.  Books, pictures, odd pieces of things are markers of our lives.  I know that people seem to remember less and acquire more and I admit that without them you can have a smaller, more uncluttered house to clean or to pack up when you move but wait a minute, I find it so enjoyable to sit and remember my past and try as I might, I do need reminders that spark those memories.  If your home is blank will your memories be blank too?  I guess not, at least for a while, but as a person who has qualified for Social Security for MANY years, I have experienced the sadness of watching a loved one lose those memories, the ones that were the stories of my childhood.  I know that this will also befall me but it does seem that living with reminders of my past family, friends and experiences only enriches my life.  Though some may think of them as clutter, they are my treasures for as long as I can remember. 

So, my rule for books has been formulated and I will live by it until I am forced to change it once again….if I should live that long.  A “Kindle” is great for topical subjects, trash and the newspaper but if its a book to ponder, mark, re-read or just look at and remember a story of your life, then pay the price and enjoy it for more than the time it takes to read it.  We need things that give value to our lives, especially when we are living during a time that seems to place no value on our past.  You can’t remember your journey by what is to come, it is from where you started that defines the course of your life.  

Saw my Mom yesterday,

She was walking ahead of me.  Her hair was nicely done, her clothes looked well thought out and though she moved slow, it was with a dignity that mom always had.  As I passed her, I glanced back into her face just to see and she had a slight smile on her lips just like mom used to have.  Tears burst into my eyes, I wanted to talk to her, at least touch her and really wanted to hug her but I knew it would frighten her.  I struggled on to my car, thinking of her as I loaded my groceries into the back seat to take home.

Mom has been gone many years but I hope that if I ever remind someone of the mom they loved so much, that they will go ahead and hug me.  I’ve been told that I am very huggable and I would certainly understand.

Sharon, you do the dishes, I’ll be in my room….

I hated it when she said this because I knew that she had been out to the mailbox and the mail had included a magazine that she hid in her room.  If my mother and I ever fought, it was over books and magazines and it was basically “first to get, first to read”.  Saturday Evening Post, Ladies Home Journal, Readers Digest all had excerpts from novels printed in them and they were in installments, which meant it took weeks to read just one story.  Both of us would only relax after we had each read the current installment and then the daily race to the mailbox for the next installment began.  I don’t mean to make it sound viscious or mean but it was a very determined game between my mother and me.  The Readers Digest was fun because of all the jokes, and different ones appealed to each of us.   We would sit at the dinner table, after we had both read the “Digest” and tell jokes to Dad while he ate his dinner.  My mother was not sneaky about where she hid the magazines when she had them first.  Usually I could find them laying on the table by her bed and then when she was done, she would walk out to the living room and I would hear them “slap” as they fell onto the coffee table.

Over the years this continued although with a lot more gentleness, we weren’t living in the same house anymore and our good manners would not allow us to go to whatever magazines were accumulated on the table without first enjoying the fact that we hadn’t seen each other for awhile.  I love magazines, have always loved magazines and it was with regret when I finally had to throw  them away; but when I knew my mother was coming for a visit, I just let them collect. 

We didn’t buy the same magazines and eventually the magazines quit publishing the continued stories.  Mom still bought the Readers Digest Condensed Books that would have 4 or 5 books in them and her shelves were full of them.  When I visited her, after an appropriate time, I would go find her “stash” to see what she had that I hadn’t read yet.  She went back to school and became a nurse so nursing magazines started showing up, they were still pretty interesting to read and then she got into psychology, I kind of enjoyed them but as the years went by the magazines changed to Modern Maturity, AARP Magazine and Prevention Magazine which I still read and discussed with my Mom.

Mom is gone and I have reached the age where Modern Maturity, AARP and Prevention are relevant to my life now and as I read them I remember the fun of beating my Mom to the mail box for the  newest magazine.  There is a magazine that I really enjoy that has been published for us nearly invisible women…the ones who are still interested in fashion and beauty ideas as well as stories about women who have found ways to impact their life and those around them with an appreciation of the possibilities of the years after 50.  Although I have crept past the target age of the magazine, I’m still there in my mind so I have renewed for another year.  http://www.more.com  is the website for my current favorite magazine but cooking magazines, gardening magazines as well as the above mentioned magazines are still stacking up at my house.   It’s a really good afternoon to be able to sit and read each one cover to cover. 

Mom and I could have some really interesting discussions over the articles published in magazines these days although we both would probably take a little nap during the reading.

The Cosmetic Whore…

Any of you who know me know my love of make-up and fashion.  As happens in so many areas, make-up & fashion are something you can do to fool the eye or draw the eye to an intended spot rather than looking at the “flaw”.   This isn’t “rocket science”, I know, but I can’t remember a time when it didn’t interest me.  I was once in the cosmetics department of Nordstroms when a clerk walked up and asked me which brand I was looking for and I answered her by saying that I was a “Cosmetics Whore”, I had worn them all and was loyal to none.  My attempt to be humorous worked and I continued my foray through the department “just looking”.   

As I thought about that encounter I remembered a 2 year segment, after I retired, that was really alot of fun and it was working for a make-up artist from New York.  He flew out to Seattle to appear on TV shows doing make-overs and then would give a phone number for people to call to book an appointment with him for his next trip.  The phone number he gave was mine and I booked his appts and worked with him when he was in town.  Now, this was a job perfectly suited to me and I loved it.  I got to help him when he did the TV shows in the studio and was fasinated by the “behind the scenes” look that I got as well as the people I met.  During that 2 year period I, of course, wore his make-up brand.  The brands I used those many years before and after were just by chance, basically a clerk who looked interested.

Today, I made another trip to Southcenter telling my husband that I needed some “powder” but I just wanted to get out of the house and it was raining outside, hence the Mall.  As my car merged with all those others wandering around between “rush hours” I thought about my make-up history and realized that when I got tired of whatever make-up I was using or just didn’t want to pay the price, I always fell back on a type of make-up that I started buying from a TV commercial.  Bare Minerals products always seemed to be the right color, easy to use, resonably priced and just a phone call away.  I am still using them and am still convinced that they, the minerals, are good for your skin and it gives you a nice finished look without looking like a mask.  Except, now you can buy them at Southcenter Mall, either in their own store in the new section of the Mall, or Nordstroms  so if you need something quickly, just drive over.  

Since I like the product so much, I thought I would tell you about it, its been a standby for me over the years and it is particularly flattering to your skin as you see more lines appearing.  I’m sure there are those who have tried  it but preferred something else, but for me, I like it very much.  Go to www.bareminerals.com and check it out, if you like. 

Something else I learned was to be sure to fill in your eyebrows, its part of that fooling the eye stuff I was talking about.  As you get older, your brows turn white or get thin and the best way to draw attention away from the “bags” under your eyes is to have a well-shaped brow.  So, thats my hint for today.  Hope it perks up your day in some way because I know it always does mine when I feel like I am ready to be present for whatever happens on this day.

My Black Friday…

Just driving along listening to Rush Limbaugh expound, doing my errands and I come to a flagman trying to control traffic in a work zone.  Well, we’ve all seen signs about “double your fines” in those areas and I won’t try to justify what I did but I was sure I saw him motion that it was my turn, so I went.  When I got to him he screamed at me and I thought about how rude that was and then I heard the ”whup, whup” and saw the lights of a police car in my rear view mirror.  Horrors!  I’m 73 years old and have never had a ticket and this one was going to be a doozy.  I pulled over and busied myself getting my drivers license out, lowering the window and feeling really, really stupid.  Its not as if there was no one else around to see what I had done I felt like a great big blinking light was over my car and my face was super-imposed on the TV screen at that new stadium in Texas or wherever it is they keep talking about.  Anyway, the policeman walks up beside my car and explains to me what I had done and I admitted, “I know”, feeling so very sheepish.  He took my license and car registration and walked back to his car and I sat and stewed as all the cars that had seen me do what I had done, slowly passed by with expressions of pleasure on each  face.  After a time, the policeman came back, bent down to look in my window and explained to me that it is always best to stay stopped when “the man” is holding a STOP sign but that he saw that I had been driving MANY years and had not really done what he had stopped me for, on purpose.  He smiled and I thanked him as I took back my license and registration.  

I have always been proud that I have never had a ticket in all these years, didn’t say I hadn’t been stopped, but no written piece of paper in my hand that requires a check in an envelope or a court date.  It was almost a joke between my husband and me that he, who has received MANY tickets just can’t believe my luck but can find no record of me ever paying one.  So, yeah, I am proud of it and always secretly thought it was because of my “charm” more than anything else…but thats another argument “he&me” have had over the years.  Until my personal “Black Friday ” and then I knew.  This kind policeman saw (I can hardly say it) a slightly confused, older lady and felt sorry for her and the cost of $400.00 that she would have to pay out of her Social Security this month.  He must have thought of his mother and it brought out the “gentle” in him and he just smiled and let me go.

 As I drove away, I took all the back roads home to give me time to quit trembling and to control my tears of humiliation.  You would think I would be grateful for his kindness but I WAS MAD!  I now had confirmation that I am an “old-lady” and fight it as I might it was  that knowledge that my tears were for.  BUT, there is still no confirmation that he said that to me, no confirmation that I was even in danger of a ticket (if all those other drivers keep silent) and I can still proudly say that I’ve never had a ticket.  Hiding under my pride is my secret….it wasn’t charm.  Don’t feel sorry for me, I’ll mourn my status in bravery, what more can you do……..except smile in my husbands face and let him believe it is still CHARM.

My Mothers 3-tined Fork

It was always laying on the counter beside the stove, ready for her as she cooked our meals.  She turned the chicken or steaks, she tested the done-ness of potatoes and anything else that needed a poke.  My mother was raised on a farm and was a really good southern cook, her food was presented in love and her families appreciation shown with the clean plates they left. 

  She seldom sat at the table with us because she always wanted to be ready to bring to the table more of anything we needed.   Over the years, that fork was always present and in her hand.  My father was also raised on a farm and he appreciated her biscuits and gravy, all the foods that came from her carefully tended garden, as well as the meat.  Dad was a hunter and every year we had Elk and Deer as part of our diet but one day Dad came home, opened the back door by the kitchen and announced that he had shot a Deer.  Mom was at the stove with her fork in her hand as she turned to him, raised her fork and said that he could do anything he wanted with that Deer but she was never going to cook meat for him again.  Well, as a newly married woman, this was quite eye-opening for me.  My mother was the traditional wife of the age she lived in and I had never heard her declare herself so forcefully before and then to watch my dad turn and go back out the door without response.  Well, I remembered that!

  Dad took his Deer to a butcher who dressed it out, the meat was given away and my mothers fork never touched meat again.  Oh, her kitchen was still a happy place, her food every bit as good, her love shown in everything she served and her outburst only seemed to be remembered by me.  As the years passed, I understood that my mother was concerned for dad’s health and at that time, only the 2 of them were aware of a Doctor’s warning.  Later, dad had a stroke that disabled him, hypertension was his enemy and mom’s outburst was a frustration that my dad understood.  We ate ”meat substitutes” produced by Loma Linda Foods and the gravy was as excellent on them as it had been on the “real” things.  Dad didn’t seem to complain and mom settled down to spending her life loving my father for 20 more years.

  After dad died, she sold the cabin on the lake and moved out.  She and I walked through the rooms for the last time.  She was selling it furnished, she had taken all she wanted and the rest stayed.  In each bedroom, the bed was covered with an un-used hand-made quilt chosen from the many that she had made.  The kitchen was ready for the next cook to occupy and just before we walked out the back kitchen door, I saw my mothers 3-tined fork laying in it’s usual place by the stove.  I walked over and picked it up, I could not leave the memories associated with that fork, I wanted to take it home and continue the tradition.  So now, I poke potatoes and whatever else I am cooking with my mother’s 3-tined fork and smile to myself,  just as she smiled at me when she saw me take it on our way out the door. 

Terrorism in the Kitchen

So much pressure in my life in the kitchen.  I had a mom who was a wonderful southern cook and then my baby sister came along and became a professional Chef.  I cook nothing from memory, I must have a recipe and I get very angry when the temperature noted and the time set does not equal a perfect reproduction of the recipe.  As time has passed by, I have found myself listening to all the do’s and don’ts the media bombards us with each day.  Salt?  Coffee? Butter?  Sugar?  Good grief, what happened to real food.  My kitchen has become the harborer of synthetic, make-believe foods and they are supposed to be better for you?  Ha!  I talk to Pat about how long its been since I have fried potatoes (not healthy), since I have used real butter…when I got married, Dick said he would not eat anything but Best Foods Mayonnaise and real butter.  I’ve failed him and he has let me, all in the name of wanting to be healthy.  Pat says she calls it “media terrorism” and all these make believe foods are combinations of chemicals that we eventually hear warnings about, usually presented by the “media” once again.  The answer, we decided, is to eat the “real” foods but remember that balance is as important in our eating as it is in the rest of our lives.  A little real butter gives a taste that no fake has been able to accomplish.  Real sugar is far superior in baking and a cup of coffee or a sip of wine is not going to cause you to deteriorate.  Yes, we need our vegetables and grains and proteins and limited carbohydrates but we don’t have to saturate our food with synthetic alternatives and then feel no comfort or love associated with the food put before us.  There is no feeling of satisfaction, only duty.  Yes, we fed our bodies and we did it the “healthy” way but why don’t I feel “fed”?   I, for one, want to go back to the taste of natural foods prepared by the hands  of someone who cares about me.  That means, I’M going to make it, bake it and eat it, remembering the “food pyramid” drummed into my head way back in elementary school.  It was right, it is still right.